


Confidence Intervals

by troisroyaumes



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-28
Updated: 2013-09-28
Packaged: 2017-12-27 20:17:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/983164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/troisroyaumes/pseuds/troisroyaumes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unrequited love is hard. Momoi, after Kuroko quits the Teikou basketball team.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Confidence Intervals

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lanerose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lanerose/gifts).



For exactly ten days after the championship finals, I refused to speak to Dai-chan. I did not drop by his house in the morning to make sure he got to school on time; I did not check in on him in between classes; I did not wait for him after school to walk home together as we had done since elementary school. He didn't register my absence, of course. But when rumors of Dai-chan cutting classes to doze on the roof reached my ears, I threw up my hands and stopped ignoring him.

In retrospect, it was a ridiculous idea. Of all people, I knew better than anyone that Dai-chan was too self-absorbed to realize when someone was trying to give him the silent treatment. After all, he barely seemed to notice that Kuroko-kun had completely disappeared. When I pointed it out, he gave me a puzzled, half-irritated glance, as if to say, "What nonsense are you spouting now, Satsuki?" and didn't respond.

Part of me wished for Kuroko-kun to notice that I had tried. Maybe it would have made it easier to stay resolute. Part of me wanted to say out loud, "See, Kuroko-kun, I'd choose you over Dai-chan, if you asked."

The thing was, Kuroko-kun would never ask. The thing was, it wasn't really a choice, at least not one for me to make. What I did, how I felt, was tangential at best. Short of turning into a genius basketball player myself, I couldn't fix Dai-chan or his relationship with Kuroko-kun or the Teikou team.

All I could do was spend the last semester of our third year managing Dai-chan's high school applications and watching Kuroko-kun when I could. The latter was no easy task; Kuroko-kun had cut himself off so absolutely from his former teammates that he became nearly impossible to spot. When I wasn't dragging Dai-chan back to class, I lurked in the library, weaving slowly through the aisles, hoping to catch a glimpse of Kuroko-kun behind the next shelf. I never saw him though.

Instead, I cultivated a network of informants, making friends with the girls in his class in hopes of overhearing a bit of news that touched on him. Trivial mentions, like: "Miyazawa-sensei accidentally marked Kuroko-kun absent again today." Or: "I nearly jumped out of my skin when Kuroko-kun appeared out of nowhere behind me this morning."

As data, it was insignificant and full of noise. As my only connection to Kuroko-kun, I clung to those scraps of information and turned them over and over in my mind, like well-worn amulets. I counted the days left until graduation and told myself not to panic. When I had the time, I compiled large matrices of all the high schools in Japan with basketball teams, their rankings in previous Inter-High and Winter Cup tournaments, the statistics and positions of their current first- and second-year players. Then I added in variables like proximity to Kuroko-kun's neighborhood, projected estimates of his entrance exam scores given his previous grades, the size of the school library, the cafeteria lunch menus--

The problem with statistics is that it is difficult to predict the behavior of individuals. The problem with models is that they are only as good as their starting assumptions. Yet I did not know what else to do. I spent too many hours tweaking variables and rerunning regressions with insufficient power. I even considered asking Midorima-kun whether Oha Asa had any insight into the question before I came to my senses. 

If Kuroko-kun only asked. Oftentimes, I imagined what I would say. "In a heartbeat, Kuroko-kun! Let's spend our precious high school days together, without having to worry about Dai-chan anymore!"

And I imagined that he would look at me with that honest, open gaze, smile very gently, and say, "Momoi-san," no, perhaps even, "Satsuki-chan," his hand reaching out to take mine. And no matter how he deflected attention and stayed out of sight, I'd be able to hang on to him, to slip past the calm silence, the hurt, the disappointment, the bitterness, all the way to the core of him that remained undaunted and determined, in spite of all that had happened this year. 

(Because for all my inadequate statistical models, I did hold on to one certainty: Kuroko-kun would find a way to keep playing basketball.)

I encountered Kuroko-kun a total of three times before graduation.

The first time was the morning of our class field trip, but before I could get beyond the awkward exchange of greetings, we were ushered onto separate buses.

The second time was outside the teachers' office; I was there to apologize for Dai-chan's behavior, and Kuroko-kun, passing by and no doubt hearing every word of the conversation, gave me a look full of such sympathy that I felt mortified at his pity.

The third time was at the school gate when I had arrived, dragging Dai-chan by the collar. Kuroko-kun glanced at both of us then continued inside without a word. Dai-chan called out, "Oi, Tetsu," and shrugged when he was met with response. My own half-delighted, half-nervous, "Kuroko-kun!" went unheard.

I never got to ask him where he was going or what he planned to do about his former teammates. I never got to tell him I wanted to help. I never got to say I hoped to see his basketball again. 

It would have been easier to have played the part of a shoujo manga heroine. Perhaps I should have left a confession note in his shoe cubby. Perhaps I should have confronted him with handmade chocolate on Valentine's day. Perhaps I should have demanded his second button at graduation. Yet, frozen with uncertainty, I waited for Kuroko-kun to ask. If he had only asked. They fail to warn you, those shoujo manga, that the worst choice is to wait and say nothing.

Instead, I followed Dai-chan to Touou. A week later, I learned that Kuroko-kun had enrolled in Seirin, a school that none of my statistical models assigned significant likelihood. As ever, Kuroko-kun remained unpredictable, undetectable.


End file.
